


Cherry Wine

by TheTiniestFish



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Blood, Blood Drinking, M/M, Non-Consensual Blood Drinking, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, The Lonely - Freeform, Vampire Bites, Vampire Turning
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-19
Updated: 2020-08-19
Packaged: 2021-03-06 00:09:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,862
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25994236
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheTiniestFish/pseuds/TheTiniestFish
Summary: Barnabas has waited in Moorland House for a long time, hoping for a saviour that he knows in his heart will never come.Originally written for Jonah Week 2020.
Relationships: Barnabas Bennett & Mordechai Lukas, Barnabas Bennett/Jonah Magnus
Comments: 4
Kudos: 26
Collections: Associated Articles Regarding One Jonah Magnus, Jonah Magnus Week 2020





	Cherry Wine

_My dear Jonah,_

_You must help me. If there is anyone left who can retrieve me from this horror, it is you. I know your work brings you into contact with all sorts of fantastical terrors, so perhaps you might have it within your power to save me from this place, from the web I have found myself so trapped within. You know what manner of creature has me captive, or at the very least, have a much greater idea than I did before my folly. I have not forgotten, Jonah, that it was you who warned me not to cross Mordechai Lukas. Advice that I have, I’m afraid, disregarded._

_It was a small enough thing, as I believed. A trifling debt I fell behind on. And when he met me in that garden, quiet as it always is with him, he demanded repayment. Well, I took it poorly, and laughed at his insistence. “Bring it before the courts,” I told him. After all, what judge would find in his favour over mine? He simply regarded me silently for many minutes, staring with such a cast to his face that I could feel my resolution beginning to falter. “You shall pay me,” he said at last, “in kind.”_

_Jonah, I have never felt such fear as in that moment. You know as well as I that the Lukas family has always exhibited an inclination towards solitude and keeping themselves well away from society and the eye of the people, as it were. Jonah, you were right to be wary of them. I do not know how much of the truth of the matter you are privy to, but you must believe me when I say that as that creature leaned down towards me, I knew that the thing before my eyes was not human._

_I do not know why Mordechai Lukas has taken me like this. I am aware that a creature such as he could just as easily tear out my throat, sup upon my lifeblood and be done with it. And to think, Jonah, that I thought to threaten him with the courts- for all I thought I knew of the Lukas family, there is every possibility that the man is older than the very courts I thought to bring him to._

_I am alone here, Jonah. The Lukases come and go, attending to their various businesses, but to call their fleeting presence ‘company’ would be false. Mordechai Lukas is the only one here who shows any interest, and I rather think the other creatures within this great, winding house consider me of no greater importance here than that of a particularly annoying dog, yipping at their heels. It is a dreadful analogy, yes, but to catch the attention of a Lukas- well, Jonah, I have failed already to heed your warnings. I will not do so again, although I fear it is already too late for me._

_I am beset by monsters on all sides, and still the fog in my mind makes it so that I cannot even truly think of escape. I am only a shadow of myself in these winding hallways, and I see the hunger grow in their eyes. I know that I will not last much longer in this place. Not without your help._

_And you must help me, Jonah. If anyone knows of what might break me from this dreadful place, it is you. I know that you have dealings with the Lukases. Any favour you may have with them- I beg of you to use it. It is my hope that if I somehow pass a letter to you, to your institute, you might find it, you might be able to save me. I have no other hope._

_Please, Jonah, if you have any compassion within your heart, you will not leave me in this place._

_Your loyal servant,_

_Barnabas._

\----  
It is cold, here in Moorland House. It is achingly so, and Barnabas Bennett often finds himself shivering, even by what should be the warmth of the fire. There is no warmth here, no life. When he had first arrived, he felt that he was the very last vestige of warmth, the only truly living thing that resided here. But as the months continue on, he has begun to feel that warmth slipping away. Mordechai comes, and he steals the lifeblood from his veins, and he leaves. And each time Barnabas sees the back of him, leaving that room, he feels a little part of himself leave with the cold creature that has destroyed him so thoroughly. He barely remembers the feedings these days. Not that he would ever wish to.

And the worst of it is that he cannot even remember the debt that he fell behind on, all those months in the past. A bet, perhaps, some wager he made in the hopes that his finances would soon improve. Or perhaps some textile order that he could not scrape together the payment for in time- in the end, it doesn’t matter. As he said to Jonah, it was a trifling thing, something he would have had very little cause to worry about, if not for the fact that he had the ill-fortune to find himself in debt to a Lukas.

Barnabas had never troubled himself greatly with acquiring or looking for any knowledge of folklore and the supposed creatures that those obsessed with the occult took such interest. He had found himself ribbing Jonah gently on the fervour with which the man tracked down old tomes, that Barnabas had privately thought were rather not worth the exorbitant sums that Jonah had seemed so willing to part with in order to acquire the knowledge trapped within.

But as he sits there upon the hard wood of his chair, bones aching from the cold that seems to have seeped into his soul during these months of solitude, he wonders: had he taken a greater interest in his lover’s research, might he have been armed enough to break Mordechai’s thrall? Or better yet, to leave this wretched place that saps the strength from him just as surely as his captor? No, perhaps he would never have found himself in such a hopeless situation. He certainly would never have thought to dismiss and threaten a monster such as him.

Barnabas had never been the most social of creatures, true enough, but even he begins to feel lonely, adrift and left to wander the empty rooms and silent hallways of the Moorland estate. It's been weeks since he managed to sneak a letter out of the grounds, and the hope that the letter would ever find its way into Jonah’s hands is fading fast. It is much more likely that his sudden stroke of good luck in sending off for help had been orchestrated by Mordechai, building him up, ready to drag him down to new depths of despair. It is a punishment that hardly fits the crime, but such monsters are hardly interested in what a simple tailor so out of his depth thinks of as unfair. Fairness has not been a part of Barnabas’ life for a very, very long time.

Barnabas sometimes wonders as he watches the fog curl around the gardens from some high-up window, whether he envies the Lukases’ other victims. At least it is over quickly for them. But Barnabas- he can still taste Mordechai’s blood when he swallows sometimes. He hates how much he needs it- were he to make any real attempt at escape, he is sure that he would make it back to Jonah only to lose his wits around company that he recognises. 

But he has seen what happens to those forsaken by their masters. The empty, lifeless husks that wander the estate, pale and utterly expressionless. On days where the sun manages to shine through the fog that blankets itself over the land, Barnabas fancies he can see through them to the landscape behind. It is not a pleasant fate, and it is one that he is sure awaits him, should he linger here.

It seems to him, as he sits by the fire, that his options are to run back to safety for a short while before becoming as a ghost to the world, or to stay here in lonely humanity for a while longer before eventually succumbing to the same fate. Barnabas does not like to think himself a coward, but he cannot bring himself to do the brave thing, even in the face of his undoing.

He shivers, and it shakes him down to the bone. The room, once simply cold, takes a turn towards icy, and Barnabas knows that he is not alone with his thoughts any longer.  
“Mordechai.” He does not turn away from the fire. He knows what comes next, and has no desire to face it head-on.

“Hello, Barnabas. I thought that I would pay you a visit, seeing as it gets so lonely in this house. I am not always so busy- ah, what was it you said- ‘attending to my business’.”

Barnabas’ heart misses a beat, and his blood runs cold. Still, he doesn’t look away from the fire.  
“It is rather rude to go through another man’s mail.”

“It would be, would it not? But I have not been going through your mail. Your dear Jonah has been corresponding with me these past months, you understand.” Mordechai sighs in some empty display of sympathy. “You should be more discerning when making friends, my dear.” 

Barnabas turns to see Mordechai smiling, flicking leisurely through the stack of papers that sit in his large hands. Barnabas wishes dearly that he didn’t know how strong those hands are, what it feels like to be held in them, trapped in place and unable to pull himself away as hands brush aside his shirt and long fangs rip deep into his- 

Mordechai smiles wider, and Barnabas knows that the fear he feels is written across his face, plain as if it were written upon the paper that the monster before him holds in its iron grip. It is not a warm smile, it doesn’t reach his eyes, those eyes that stare at him with a cruel and hungry glint.  
“Ah, yes. Jonah knows that you are here. He has known this entire time- but he follows his own advice. He knows how important it is to keep the favour of _‘creatures, such as the Lukases.’_ ” He tuts, “And after the hospitality we showed you. You really must have learned something of manners, considering your situation.

The trouble is, Jonah’s been doing some research. He’s been looking into what makes us tick. The man is so very afraid of death. I do not like to meet in person, but sometimes business calls for it, and every time I have smelled the fear on him. Oh, his face is pleasant enough, and he goes through all the niceties- but I rather think we terrify him. He keeps glancing at my mouth, every time I smile.”

Barnabas frowns.  
“Why are you telling me this?”

“Jonah wishes to learn everything of the creatures that roam this world. He wishes to gain some control of matters, control of us. He’s grown rather arrogant of late. I rather think he needs a reminder.” Mordechai pauses. “You should do quite nicely.”

Barnabas finally turns, slow and weary. There isn’t much life left in him, and it shows with his sluggish movements.  
“So, you’re finally going to finish things.”

Mordechai laughs, a low huff that raises his shoulders almost imperceptibly.  
“Oh, yes. This particular game is coming to an end.”

Barnabas closes his eyes, and braces himself for the demise that is surely about to befall him. 

The pain comes, as expected. The sharp shock of fangs sliding into his neck, cold breath on his skin. The fog comes over him, as it does every time. It’s almost routine at this point, but today he knows that he will not live to regain his senses. His veins almost ache from the absence of blood, and the quiet that seems to have hollowed him from the inside out is louder than its ever been. Everything is so muffled, and Barnabas can feel himself slipping- and there is another flash of pain as Mordechai steps back.

Some wetness brushes up against his lips, and the barest amount of liquid trickles through and into his mouth. It’s metallic, and were Barnabas in any other state he would have recognised it instantly for what it is. But before he can struggle his way into sense, before he can pull any kind of coherent thought from his sluggish mind- the taste changes. 

Barnabas has always enjoyed the finer things. His finances have not always been in a state fit to chase such frivolities, but Jonah has obliged him in the past. He remembers a particularly fine wine that Jonah had been saving for a special occasion, that the two of them had broken into late one night. It had been some exorbitantly expensive vintage, the kind that were Barnabas to look into acquiring a bottle for himself may very well leave him bankrupt.

It’s not long before the blood that runs in through his mouth tastes better than any wine. He doesn’t want to drink, doesn’t want to let it in, but still it seeps its way through the cracks in his resolve and before he knows it his mouth is open and his teeth are bared and then buried in Mordechai’s arm, where they sink too easily into stone-cold flesh. His higher reasoning is swept away in the tide, the heady ambrosia of the blood washing over him. He must have it. He craves it more than he has ever craved anything- not even the touch of another as he sat there those past weeks in the Lukas family manor, wasting away. He would gladly stay for a thousand years, for just another drop of the sweet honey of Mordechai’s blood.

With every desperate gulp, he feels something shift within him. It shouldn’t feel right, the cold of Mordechai’s blood shouldn’t feel warm within him, like life is finally coming back into his veins- but with every swallow, every rush of the crimson current that runs down his throat, he feels better than he has since he so foolishly threatened Mordechai Lukas. But it doesn’t feel quite like a recovery, no. It is less a recovery, and more an… acclimation. 

His veins feel warm from their own cold, less someone by the fire and more someone finally succumbing to the chill. He feels so awake, so vital, even as he passes further and further from the embrace of true life. And yet, death does not claim him, and so he changes further, mind and body warping in the firelight. He can feel his teeth slide further into Mordechai’s flesh, though he does not move. Where his heart beat quick with fear, his pulse is slowing to a sluggish thud that comes with sparse irregularity.

It is a long time before he realises that at no point during all this has he stopped for breath.

It's at that revelation that he finally pulls away, eyes flying open and gasping for air that brings no relief to his aching lungs. Why should it? It is not the ache of a chest searching for breath that will not come- it is the ache of something changed from the inside out, torn from what it should be and made into what cannot ever be truly alive. Every part of his being aches, from his hands, clawlike in front of him, to his mouth, filled with sharp and foreign teeth, to his heart, now still in his silent, unmoving chest. His throat hurts worst of all, dry and scratchy far beyond what it should be, considering the liquid that had run down it in torrents just moments before.

He puts a hand to his mouth to wipe it, and stares at the red smear, uncomprehending. Blood shouldn’t taste like that- not to him, not to a human. A heavy dread settles in his chest. This is not- he had known that this was where Barnabas Bennett would die, and considering the stillness of his heart, that can hardly be refuted- but he had not expected that against all usual procedures to this kind of thing, he is still here. Still moving. That- it isn’t natural. It’s not right.

He looks up. Mordechai is watching him with something between amusement and quiet satisfaction.

He opens his mouth to speak, but winces as no sound comes out.

He tries again, remembering to breathe this time. The words don’t come easily, his tongue cutting itself on teeth sharper and more jagged than he remembers, and his throat protesting, raw and thirsty, but he manages to choke out a few simple words.

“What have you done to me.”

Mordechai only smiles, the teeth of a predator glinting in the firelight.

Barnabas tries not to think about the fact that his teeth, were a mirror present, would look much the same.


End file.
